52.
Marshport police headquarters was in a nineteenth-century brick and brownstone building with an arched entranceway that looked like it might be a library, or a school. Jesse sat in the basement in a blank interrogation room with yellow walls, with a Marshport detective named Concannon, and an Essex County assistant DA named Tremaine. Concannon was a big, hard-looking man with black curly hair and a handlebar mustache. There was a small white scar across the bridge of his nose. Tremaine had short, thick hair with blond highlights, and big, round tinted glasses. Jesse thought her legs were good.
With them was Bobby Chacon.
“We got him with an unlicensed handgun,” Concannon said.
“And we called Florida,” Tremaine said, “and, to our amazement, we find that Bobby has two previous convictions.”
“So this would make strike three,” Jesse said.
“If it were a violent felony,” Chacon said.
Nobody said anything.
“It’s a simple gun possession,” Chacon said. “Throw the book at me, I get maybe a year.”
“It could be more serious,” Tremaine said.
“Yeah? How?”
“We might find a way to up the stakes a little,” Concannon said.
“I heard he actually fired at you when you were attempting to place him under arrest,” Jesse said.
Concannon nodded.
“That would crank everything up some,” Tremaine said.
“That’s a fucking lie,” Chacon said. “Excuse my language, ma’am.”
“And cursing in front of a ladylike ADA,” Tremaine said. “That must be some kind of fucking crime. Right?”
“It don’t help none,” Concannon said.
“I didn’t resist no arrest,” Chacon said.
“You know a guy named Larson?” Jesse said.
“Nope.”
“He’s from Miami, too,” Jesse said.
“Big city,” Chacon said.
“And he was registered at the same motel you were, next room.”
“Don’t know him,” Chacon said.
“How about Estella?” Concannon said.
“Nope.”
“That’s odd,” Tremaine said. “He was registered to the same room you were.”
“Must be a mistake at the front desk,” Chacon said.
“Guy named Romero shared the room with Larson,” Tremaine said. “Know him?”
Chacon leaned back and tried to look contemplative. Then he shook his head.
“Nope,” he said. “Sorry. Don’t recognize the name.”
Tremaine stood.
“I’m tired of this,” she said. “He says something worth hearing, let me know.”
She left the room. Chacon watched her go.
“Nice ass,” he said.
Concannon slapped him hard across the face.
“Respect,” Concannon said.
As soon as the door closed behind Tremaine, it opened again and a tall, fat cop with a shaved head and a roll of fat over the back of his collar came in and stood against the wall behind Chacon.
“I want a lawyer,” Chacon said.
“Sure thing,” Concannon said. “Your constitutional right. Usually takes a while to arrange, though. Probably won’t get here until after you try to make a break for it, and end up falling down a long flight of stairs.”
“You don’t scare me,” Chacon said.
“Not yet,” Concannon said.
He took a pair of black leather gloves out of his hip pocket and began to inch one of them onto his left hand.
“You want to go outside, Chief Stone,” Concannon said. “Sometimes small-town cops get a little queasy.”
Jesse stood up.
“Look, Bobby,” he said. “You can help us out here and we can probably look the other way on the gun charge.” Jesse looked at Concannon, who shrugged. “Otherwise we’ll frame you for something that’ll put you away for life.”
Chacon stared at Jesse.
“You say it right out?”
“Yes,” Jesse said, “that’s how it’s going to go. I stay here, you tell me what’s been going on. Or I leave and you get framed and fall down a long flight of stairs. It’s why the ADA went out. She knows how it’s going to go. She doesn’t mind the frame job, but she don’t like the stairs much.”
Chacon gave Jesse a dead-eyed stare. Jesse shrugged and started for the door. Concannon was wiggling his right hand into the second glove.
“Okay,” Chacon said. “I’ll tell you some things.”
53.
Suit was outside Jesse’s condo in a squad car. Molly was inside, reading The New York Times. Amber sat crosslegged on the floor in front of the television, watching an inside Hollywood show on E! Amber was bored. She shifted her position, fiddled with her hair, yawned loudly.
“You married?” she said to Molly.
“Yes.”
“What’s your old man do?”
“My husband builds boats,” Molly said.
“Any money in that?” Amber said.
“Some.”
“So how come you work?”
“I like to work,” Molly said.
“As a cop?” Amber said.
“I like being a cop,” Molly said.
Amber shook her head sadly.
“You got kids?”
“Four,” Molly said.
“Any daughters?”
“One,” Molly said.
“You ever fool around?”
“You mean like sex?” Molly said.
“Like, duh?” Amber said. “Of course sex.”
“Might be none of your business,” Molly said.
Amber shrugged.
“So did ya?” she said.
Molly thought for a moment about the way Crow seemed to look through her clothes. She felt her face flush slightly.
“You did, didn’t you?” Amber said.
“No,” Molly said. “I have never cheated on my husband.”
“Why not?” Amber said. “Doesn’t it get boring doing it with the same guy every day?”
Molly smiled.
“When you’ve been married fourteen years, and you both work, and you got four kids, it’s not every day,” Molly said.
“Man, you’re as drab as Jesse,” Amber said. “You have any fun before you got married?”
“I got married pretty early,” Molly said.
“Jesus,” Amber said. “Tell me you weren’t a freaking virgin.”
“No,” Molly said. “I wasn’t a virgin.”
“Christ, I hope not,” Amber said. “You think you might fool around sometime?”
“I have no long-range plan,” Molly said. “I’m pretty sure I won’t fool around today.”
Amber looked at the big picture of Ozzie Smith behind the bar.
“Who’s the black guy?” Amber said.
“That’s Ozzie Smith,” Molly said. “He’s in the Baseball Hall of Fame.”
“So why’s his picture here?”
“I guess Jesse admires him,” Molly said.
“How come?”
“Jesse used to be a ballplayer,” Molly said. “He was a shortstop, like Ozzie.”
“Jesse played baseball?”
“In the minor leagues,” Molly said. “He hurt his shoulder and had to stop.”
“Bummer,” Amber said. “And he ends up a cop.”
“I think he likes being a cop,” Molly said.
“How come?”
“He’s good at it,” Molly said.
“That’s all?”
“That’s enough,” Molly said.
“Is that why you like it?”
“Yeah,” Molly said. “Yeah, it is.”
They were quiet for a time. The gossip program gurgled on.
“Must be why I like screwing,” Amber said.
“Because you’re good at it?” Molly said.
“The best,” Amber said.
“My husband always says the worst sex he ever had was great,” Molly said.
“What’s that mean?”
“Maybe everybody’s good at it,” Molly said.
Amber was silent for a time. Then she shrugged.
“What’s the difference,” she said.
54.
Crow came into Jesse’s office and sat down.
“Things happening in town,” he said.
“All of them since you arrived,” Jesse said.
“Think of me as a catalyst for change,” Crow said.